A Temple of 80's Chic Gets a Corduroy Makeover

By TIMOTHY JACK WARD

Published: October 26, 1995

COULD it be true? Could it be that Morgans Hotel -- the harbinger of Eurostyle in New York, the prototype "designer hotel" when it opened in 1984 -- had become tired? Or -- as its French designer, Andree Putman, put it, "use jusqu'a la corde" -- threadbare?

Eleven years, one recession and one Return to Comfort later, it was all too true. Wear and tear aside, all that black and white and gray was no longer cool, just cold. And so last spring the hotel's owner, Ian Schrager (who also owns two other temples of interior chic in New York, the Royalton and Paramount hotels), asked Ms. Putman to return to the project that first propelled her to international fame.

Once a monument to designer excess, Morgans, at 237 Madison Avenue (37th Street), has gone soft, warm, vanilla. Well, more caffe latte, really. If the early-80's Morgans was a top-heavy power suit, the new-and-improved Morgans is a slouchy pair of corduroys.

Throughout the hotel, the palette has softened from cool, silvery tones with black-and-white-check accents, to a warmer, subtler mix that ranges from sandy to sandier. It is as if someone had gently fiddled with the little knob that adjusts the color on a television screen.

"These days, the less you see, the better you feel," Ms. Putman said.

The new lobby sets the tone: The sleek but uncomfortable designer-statement armchairs have been replaced by flea-market treasures. There are pairs of weathered caramel-colored leather club chairs that are inviting and familiar. A 19th-century mahogany, teak and rattan planter's chair sprawls by the front door. The three-dimensional design of the carpet is the same, but its new palette makes for a very different effect.

Styles of decorating change just as styles of living do. In 1977, Mr. Schrager could be found glittering the night away at Studio 54, which he owned with Steve Rubell, who died in 1989. But now, at 49, Mr. Schrager looks forward to spending the evening with his wife, Rita Narona-Schrager, and their daughter, Sophia, 2.

Ms. Putman, too, has changed. "I am not a saint, quite the opposite, but my passion now is to change life a little bit, to improve daily life," she said on a visit to New York in early October to supervise the finishing touches of the $1.3 million renovation. "I believe design is redemptive. The new goal is to create things that last."

The recent renovation of her duplex apartment in Paris, on the Left Bank served as a laboratory for Ms. Putman's new ideas. A new understanding of home coincided with the birth of her grandson, Alexandre, now 2. "The reality of my house is scenes spent with the child," she said. "Home exists, to my eyes, for him."

Her list of design dislikes remains the same: "Too much Louis-someone, too big flowers, too much the desire to intimidate. And I do resent the obligation of using lavish materials, pretending to be Versailles. The French have a heavy sense of decor, having never recovered from Louis XIV not being here anymore. But it is a painful and stupid nostalgia."

Ms. Putman seems equally disdainful of those who are obsessed with newness and acquisition. "For all the threatening advertising, and wanting so desperately to be in, suddenly people are realizing that buying things doesn't save" in the redemptive sense, she said, adding: "Design became a kind of show business. That even a teapot should be designed anew by an architect is so depressing, when China or Africa are filled with the most beautiful objects."

The guest rooms at Morgans Hotel were once dressed in sleek black leather, gray flannel and stainless steel and trimmed with a black and white checkerboard frieze. That was replaced by the new warmer palette. To make the small rooms look less cramped, beds and chairs are no higher than 16 inches from the floor. The original framed botanical photographs by Robert Mapplethorpe remain.

The headboards and window seats are now covered with a dove-gray washable synthetic suede. The aggressive right angles of a buffalo-plaid blanket have been replaced by a coffee-colored throw soft enough to wear, as Ms. Putman did during her stay, occasionally draping it around her shoulders.

Most emblematic of what the designer calls her new "obsession for warmth" is the boxy armchair, generously scaled, with a very deep, soft seat. It is covered in thick wide-wale corduroy the color of rich cream. Ms. Putman absently petted it with her fingertips as she mused, "Stroking this chair is a real pleasure."

Throughout the hotel, walls have been given a flecked finish that resembles pink granite. It is a spray-on pointillist concoction of specs in three similar colors. The overall effect is of a slightly taupey speckled eggshell.

But guests at the hotel, who pay $195 to $250 a night for a regular room, can still take a stroll on the wild side: A narrow stairway off the lobby leads down to a dark bar lighted only by quirky candlesticks and votive candles wedged into brick walls. Mr. Schrager asked Calvin Tsao, a New York architect and a protege of I. M. Pei, to create the bar in what had been a storage room.

"I was thinking Cocteau -- a grotto, very dark, mysterious, just a little sinister and surreal," Mr. Schrager said. A glowing translucent marble bar slashes diagonally through the room. On each side of the bar are totem-like wood stools designed by Chris Lehrecke, a Brooklyn artist.

One recent day, Ms. Putman took a break from putting Euroflash out of its misery and watched the people in the compact lobby. Four young men and women, snappily dressed, struggled through the front doors, loaded like pack mules with at least two shopping bags each from Brooks Brothers, Swatch, Banana Republic and the Gap, insignias a-flying.

"It is obscene, isn't it?" she whispered, referring to their trendy haul. "That will not console them, not for a moment."

Photos: Bedroom window seats are in soft gray.; A new look at MorgansHotel: left, flea-market finds in the lobby; center, Ian Schrager with Andree Putman; right, Calvin Tsao, designer of the basement lounge, at his surreal bar. (Carol Halebian for The New York Times)